Whatever Lola Wants (10 page)

Too many people, too much sweat. He walked the perimeter, looking at faces on the floor. No Julie. He knew maybe a quarter of the people here, mostly the juniors, his class. He waved to some, some waved back. Most of them liked him, many had voted for him for class president, he beating out the big new quarterback by a handful of votes. He saw Ella, Jacquie, girls he'd had a couple of dates with, Lauren too, a movie and then some back seat bingo in Charlie's Chevy while up front Charlie and his girl kept busy waiting for the submarine races to start. Fun, but none of them he wanted to spend a lot of time with. They must have felt the same about him, they didn't come bugging him—well, Ella, two times. But that was done with.

The cut ended, the
DJ
announced an intermission. The lack of music, filled with talk and laughter, seemed suddenly ominous. He searched. No Julie. Also no Stanley.

“Hi.”

He turned. She was grinning, her lips and her blue eyes. She'd tied her hair, long, a sort of dirty blond, to the left side and it fell down past her throat. “Hi,” he said.

“You walked right past me.”

“I was looking for you. On the dance floor.”

“I know. You were concentrating.”

“Searching.” Hard.

“And?”

“I couldn't find you. But you found me.”

“I've been looking for you.”

The best news. “You been groovin'?”

“Some. I'm helping with refreshments.”

“Where?”

She pointed. “Over there. Left of the
DJ
. Want something to drink?”

“Cool.”

She chuckled at his joke, took his hand, and walked him through the full gym, kids waiting for the
DJ
to come back, talking, laughing, a few with their arms around each other. The pressure on his hand from hers was dizzying. She wore a yellow scoop-necked minidress and her feet were bare. She had pretty toes. She stood behind the drinks counter. He bought an orangeade. She put a straw in the bottle and handed it to him.

“Want one too?” he asked.

“Can I have a sip of yours?”

“Sure,” he said, and passed it back to her.

She raised the bottle, put the straw between her lips, pursed them around the straw, and sipped. Then she handed the bottle to C.C., her eyes on his the whole time. He took it, noted a tiny stain of lipstick on the straw, and sipped.

She watched him and smiled, less serious than with her grin from minutes ago, more earnest. She said something.

C.C. saw her lips move, then smile again. The most gorgeous creature in the gym. In the city. His lips could practically taste the fleck of lipstick from the straw. More. More what, C.C.? More lipstick. He felt himself grinning. She said something again. Why couldn't he hear her? He walked around to the end of the counter. She joined him there. “What did you say?”

“I asked if you wanted to dance.”

Music. Newton-John singing, I honestly love you. “Yes. Let's.” This time he took her hand, his left, her right. They joined a hundred other couples on the floor. Their hands stayed connected, raised a bit, his arm came around her back, hers to his shoulder. They danced, moving slowly, she looking up at him. Her face came up to three inches below his. Was she standing on her toes? He looked down, past her small breasts and slim waist, past her hips down along her legs, yes only the pretty toes touched the ground. He pulled her in close to him, her head now on his collarbone, he supported her while they danced, his face in her hair. He hoped beyond hope she wouldn't notice how hard he'd gotten. No sign from her. Good. They danced. Afterward he could remember Roy Orbison singing “Pretty Woman,” and the Beatles with something, maybe
“Yesterday.” They danced till eleven, closing time. They danced fast sometimes, sat out a few, too loud to talk, looked at each other, grinning.

After, no question, they'd all go to the Rat Kitchen for pizza, Charlie with Amanda, a busty funny girl, Julie funny too when she got going, a little like the Julie he knew from history and English, the same only more. Just past midnight. Julie had to be home by twelve-thirty so Charlie drove her and C.C. to her home first. They got out, C.C. walked her to the door. They stood facing each other and at the same instant their faces drew together, their lips touched, their arms came around each other. They kissed, and kissed again, until at the back of C.C.'s brain he heard a voice calling, “Let's get rollin'!”

C.C. said, “Can I see you tomorrow?”

Julie let her face drop. “I can't tomorrow.”

“Maybe Sunday? We could go for a walk.”

“I—I don't think so, C.C.”

“Oh.” He squinted at her. “Did I do something wrong?”

She shook her head quickly and put her finger to his lips. “No. Really. Nothing.” She glanced at the door. “I have to go in.”

“Maybe next weekend?”

She gave him a small smile. “Maybe.”

“But I'll see you in school.”

“Sure. Of course.”

He took her hand. “Good.”

She squeezed his fingers. Released them, reached for the door handle, turned it, stepped inside, one finger to her lips, blew him a kiss, and closed the door.

Back at the car he didn't see what the rush was for Charlie and Amanda, all wound into each other as they were. No g.d.d.h. was Amanda. She'd said she lived just a couple of blocks away and C.C. had to talk to Charlie so when they drove off C.C. was puzzled, Charlie driving in the wrong direction. “Charlie—” But by then he'd figured it out, they were going the right way, Charlie was taking C.C. home first. Damn.

•

“What's g.d.d.h.?”

“Goddamn door hugger.”

“Oh.”

•

C.C. found it
hard to go to sleep, in his brain and anatomically. He knew the two were connected, he'd gone hard lots of times long before he'd sensed and now resensed Julie's lips pressing warm and soft on his. But lying in bed he couldn't make his erection go away, infuriating, he didn't want to think of her like that. She was way more than that, he wanted to remember dancing with her, her breasts and head against him as she ran her fingers slowly up and down his spine, as he pressed his lips against the top of her hair, as she stood with her toes on his socked feet, damn he should have taken off his socks, left them with his loafers. He got up and took a cool shower, which helped. Back to bed. He hoped he hadn't wakened Bobbie by running the water. But if she guessed his thinking, she'd understand. Somehow she just knew these things.

Right after his bar mitzvah, after his judo training—first-rate idea, she'd thought—she sat him down. “Okay, my friend the man, time to talk about sex.” They talked for nearly an hour. It wasn't as if she explained a lot he didn't know, more how she filled in spaces between patches of information he'd picked up at school from stories and boasts, and who did it with whom and how. They talked about why sex could feel so good, and where the dangers lay, not only pregnancy and diseases but how sex could mess up your mind if you didn't do it out of pleasure or love, if both the people involved didn't do it for closeness to each other. Stuff way beyond the mechanics of locker room bragging and fretting. At the end of the hour he'd said, “Thanks, Bobbie, that was good.” And she'd said, “It's a start.” Puzzled, he'd said, “We'll talk some more?” “You with me, you with others. It's a lifetime project.” She'd chuckled. “Me with others too.” So that when he was alone he thought, fuckinamazin. Bobbie too. Of course. He knew she dated guys but till right then he'd not really thought about Bobbie in that way, old as she was. A lifetime project.

Tonight, years after their sit-down, everything he'd understood—yeah he was smart, coolest guy on the block—tonight made full sense. Physically speaking. And no sense at all.

The weekend, all that free time he could've been with Julie, turned into unending gloom. Call her? She'd said she wouldn't see him. Or couldn't, he didn't remember which. Because she'd be spending time with Stanley? Maybe just with her parents. He could at least talk with her on the phone. Saturday afternoon, he called. Nobody home.

His despair deepened. He had to dispel it. Think of something else, someone else. Talk to Bobbie. But Bobbie was gone for the weekend. Read a book. Couldn't talk to Gramma, not about this. Watch television. Nothing worked. Julie's face hovered smack in the middle of his brain. Last resort, his cello. He'd been taking lessons for five years. He'd never be great at it—he maybe had talent, but not enough commitment. Still, he enjoyed playing, loved the rich smooth-textured sound he could produce, and he'd get caught up in a long moment, committed to a thing that seemed as much part of him as outside him. He opened the case, removed the bow, the handsome deep-brown instrument, sat, tuned it. He drew the bow across the strings. Lush tones flowed from its hollows, fascinating him as much today as when Bobbie had, years ago, bought him its smaller brother. How had she known he'd take to it? Bobbie knew these things. He would play as if Julie were in the room, listening, watching his hands, his fingers, as he concentrated on creating opulent crescendos, sweet legatos, light allegros.

For a while it worked. He was moved into another realm. He liked to think of these moments as Moments, larger than either the music or his mind, embracing them both as he played, certain beyond question of himself, of his very breathing. But after barely an hour the Moment faded, leaving him alone, again unsure. Maybe the gloom weighed a little less.

In the evening he went to a movie with Charlie. He wanted to talk about Julie but Charlie was full of Amanda, fastest tongue in the northeast, they'd almost done it but then she freaked and he didn't want to frost her so in the end she'd only done him. Still, it was fuckin' unreal.

Wrong to mention Julie to Charlie tonight. Not how he wanted to talk about Julie, or even think about her. Except sex nothing but sex had been running around his brain despite what he wanted to think he wanted. Yeah, he could hear Bobbie saying that. Sunday afternoon he called Julie again. No, her father said, she's out, won't be back till tonight, too late to call.

During the week it didn't get any clearer. In English and history she was always talking to somebody else. Until Wednesday when he saw her in the hall by herself, walking toward him before she saw him. So he stood still and smiled, and she saw him at last and smiled right back but just for a couple of seconds, then she dropped her eyes. He said, “Can we talk?”

She said, “About?”

“You know.”

She nodded. “C.C.—” But she half turned, looking at the wall now.

“Okay, we don't have to talk.”

“I shouldn't have—” Her glance dropped to the floor, then arced back to face him. “I'm sorry about Friday evening.”

“I'm not. But about everything since, I am.”

“I like you. I had to find out. But—there's Stanley, my friend from—”

“I know who he is.”

“He was upset.”

“About?”

“Me. With you. At the dance.”

“Give me a break, Julie.” Did she tell Stanley? Or had somebody else?

“More than upset. Angry. He had to work, he said, and here I was tuning him out.”

“Julie.” This wasn't any Julie he knew. “You don't belong to him.”

She said nothing.

“Does he think he owns you?” He was being firm with her. He had to be. Owning someone: Bobbie's notion.

She said nothing but her eyes blinked hard a couple of times.

And now he had to ask, “Do
you
think he owns you?”

Her head shook, a couple of tiny twitches.

“Great.” The world was real again. “Want to go for soda?”

She stared at him. “I do. But I can't.”

“Why not?”

She looked over his shoulder. “It'll make Stanley angry again. I don't want to do that.”

“How would he even—” But Stanley had friends everywhere, here, at the dance. Or Julie had friends—less than friends—who envied her. “Oh, Julie.”

Now she caught his glance again. “That's why I said I was sorry.”

“What could he do?”

She shivered a little. “I don't know.” And more controlled. “I don't want to find out.”

“Julie?”

“Yes?”

“Be careful. Please.”

She nodded, and walked on.

He turned to watch her. She started to turn, stopped herself, walked on.

He told Charlie. Charlie said, “She's cute but she's square. Lots of classy cuties out there.”

“Yeah I know, but—”

“Amanda's got a cousin comin' to town, she says she's a blast, Tina I think.”

“I don't want to get into—”

“Let's say we four head out to the passion pit. Couple of good flicks. What say?”

What say. Say, what the hell. Say, sorry, Julie. He said, “I'll think about it.”

“Well don't think too long 'cause Amanda needs to fix Tina up for Saturday night and I got to find her somebody or she'll get some asshole who I don't want in the rod with me'n' Amanda, catch?”

“Call you tonight.”

By evening C.C. was so pissed at Julie he called Charlie and told him, Sure. Charlie said Amanda said Tina'd be a hot date. By morning he felt stupid for letting Charlie lead him around and tried to get out of the hot date but Charlie reminded him he was owed one—hell, more than one—so it was on for Saturday with Terri, her name wasn't Tina, C.C., better remember that.

The rest of the week was a total and complete drag. He saw Julie in class but they didn't talk. He called her at home. Her mother went to get her, the mother came back apologetic, Julie couldn't talk just now.

Saturday evening C.C. and Charlie picked up Amanda in a loose granny dress and Terri in jeans. The granny dress had a low V-neck. The jeans below a plaid blouse were loose, baggy, over a skinny young woman with short curly hair and a smile that tried. Not a total spaz but gettin' there. C.C. and Terri in back, sitting and talking, where you from, what d'you do there, when'd you get here, how was the trip. In front it was Charlie, one hand on the wheel, and Amanda on the driver's side of the seat. Off to the Sky-Glo Drive-In. Hook the speaker to the front window. Lights out. The first half of the double feature was
Planet of the Apes
; not what Charlie had told C.C. it'd be about, but Charlie and Amanda didn't care. A quarter of the way in C.C. and Terri were getting along well enough to agree they had to switch seats with Charlie and Amanda. They couldn't hear half of what was going on in the movie, too much distracting breathing and giggling from up front. They traded front for back and yep, back there Charlie and Amanda got to about cloud nine.